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When a wealthy criminal feels they owe you and says they will be in touch, it sounds ominous and could mean anything. I was acutely aware of that, so rather than risk Antonella gatecrashing our wedding, I sent her an invitation by email.
While sitting on our private jet charter and enjoying a stiff Balvenie single malt, my fiancee checked over the email invite before I sent it with an accompanying note. Victor carefully held the double-aged whisky he nursed lovingly well away from me, knowing its aroma might upset my already queasy stomach.
After tracing a finger down the email, off my laptop, and onto a silky smooth thigh, he nodded at me. I giggled, stared down at his errant finger that circled my knee, and nodded around the fully occupied cabin, to which he reluctantly removed the unoffending finger before it got lost up my pencil skirt.
“I think inviting Antonella is a wise choice, Amy. You are building a great network.”
“Yes, but I’ll have to go some to match yours.”
“What’s mine is now yours, sweetheart.”
I glanced at Victor and saw he meant precisely that. The profundity of his statement struck me in a way it never had when I heard the same in a friendly conversation. People say it many times, then fight each other in divorce court for every dime. Victor and I had recently renewed our prenuptial arrangement through independent lawyers, checked over by ours. The original agreement was one I insisted on putting in place early on, which meant I could never claim his wealth.
“Do you think our new prenup was a good idea, Victor?”
“You have enormous wealth now, too, Amy. You must protect that, even from me, especially knowing my savage lawyers.”
“It feels like we are expecting something terrible to happen between us and keeping our property apart. I say this not as a lawyer but as your concerned fiancee.
“Plan for the worst, hope for the best.”
“Oh… you are full of idioms today.”